"Your eye looks pretty bad."
It's Monday morning and Sebastian has just picked Dave up from the house he now shares with his father. Dave looks good, happy even, and concerned.
Sebastian doesn't take his eyes of the road, but does move his hand to the side of his face where it hurts the most. He really thought he had covered it up okay, he didn't see anything in the bathroom mirror this morning.
Then again, there is only artificial light in the bathroom and that tends to be different from actual day light.
"What happened?"
Sebastian shrugs, excuses forming quickly in his head. He's gotten quite good at that, making up excuses and have them actually make sense.
"Fight with this guy," he says after a few heavy seconds of silence, "it's why I wasn't in Scandals Saturday," he adds then.
He feels Dave's eyes on him, but doesn't take his own off the road. He's got another hour and a half left on this drive and even if he's good at lying, he doesn't enjoy it. His eye is throbbing and apparently obvious again. On top of that he left his dad with only half a bottle of vodka this morning. He knows his father has no money, he knows his father is an addict, so where that will lead to he really doesn't want to know.
He hates that he's worrying about this, about supplying his dad with alcohol, but he does worry about it. If he doesn't get it to his father he will get it one way or another. Mostly meaning stealing booze. Or maybe even getting weed from Greasy Jay down the road, if not something stronger. He will probably drive back after school tomorrow, buy some beer and leave it. He's off early anyway on Tuesdays, and starts late on Wednesday.
Dave doesn't talk anymore, doesn't ask questions and Sebastian likes it. It finally gives him time to properly think about what happened on Saturday night, what had led his father to give him the black eye he's currently not hiding so well. Dave's eyes are still on him and for some reason his thoughts are in whispers. Maybe because Dave is watching him, but probably because almost all of his thoughts are in whispers lately.
All of his thoughts except for when he's counting.
Saturday he had been sitting in the room by himself, working on his English homework when his dad had stormed in.
"They're not paying me anymore!"
"What?" Sebastian had asked, not entirely sure who it was that stopped paying what, because as far as he knew his dad didn't have any sort of income whatsoever.
"I have no money, brat, don't go 'what' -ing me."
"I'm not -," Sebastian started, but decided against it. Mouthing off to his father, even if it was as innocent as defending himself, it would not go over well.
"How the fuck will I get my fucking beer now?"
Sebastian had shrugged, "I'll think of something," was his answer.
"YOU?"
Not good.
"You?"
Sebastian knew he was in trouble the second his father used that tone. That mocking, hissing noise that would shake any human being to their core. Never had he known a sound could be venomous until he heard his father's hiss. It has always been a sound with too much air, barely audible but ever the more so dangerous. Every time Sebastian has heard it thus far, it ended badly. Let him be warned, he braced himself for what was to come.
"You think I need to be taken care of? You think I need your help?"
His father's face was close to his own now, the hot breath reeked of rubbing alcohol and it made Sebastian nauseous. His father's face was so close he could see the red in his eyes, the dark circles beneath his eyes and the tiny sweat drops on his forehead.
"No," Sebastian said in a small voice, "of course not."
Sebastian wants to know why it was different, why his father got so incredibly angry he actually punched him this time. Usually it's yelling, calling him names and cursing, telling him he's worthless and the occasional shoving. Sure, the shoving had hurt a lot of the times, caused him to have bruised in weird places and that's how he got so good at lying.
It's nothing, it's from a lacrosse match. I got it during practice. Tripped down the stairs.
So he is used to bruises, he is used to the yelling and the fear of what is to come. He even is prepared for a punch in the ribs. He knows his dad's idea of punishment for bad behavior is a punch in the ribs. Like when he thinks Sebastian has had sex for money. He doesn't go to the police, or talks him out of it. He hurts him.
But this time it was different, he seemed more angry than before and Sebastian got scared. Maybe that's what went wrong in the end, Sebastian got even more scared than usual. Maybe he got so scared his dad could finally see it on his face, or read it in his body language. Before Saturday his father never seemed to realize he was scared. Now, in this new situation his dad had the upper hand. Or had he always?
With every word he saidSebastian smelled the alcohol in his breath, the spit on his face and he started trembling, he was sure his face was pale and his pupils blown white from fear and adrenaline. His breath came short and fast and his sweaty palms gripped tightly at the edge of the bed he was sitting on.
"I don't need your help, you filthy little slut."
His dad spat the word out as if it cost him pain to think it, as if he had never taken any of Sebastian's so called slut moneybefore. He took it daily.
"It's all your fault anyway, you spoilt brat. You come into myhouse and demand me to take care of you."
"I don't understand," Sebastian said quietly, but his father didn't listen.
"You come here and now theyfound out and theywon't get me money if I use it for minors?"
"Who are 'they'? I don't get who you mean, daddy."
But his father didn't comment on that, merely kept his face close to Sebastian's and kept staring into his eyes intently.
"You know what?" His dad had said after a seventy-three counts of the clock, "you aregoing to help me. You are going to find me money because it's yourfucking fault they won't help me out."
Sebastian still desperately wanted to know who they were and why they gave his father money and why theywon't give it if he uses it for minors, but his father grabs his face in his hands and threw him off the bed and onto the floor.
"Get up!" he commanded, and so Sebastian got to his feet.
"Now listen to me, you spoilt brat, no more money for you."
"I.. what?"
"I said, no more money for you. I know how you get your money. I know how you do it, and from now on you're going to hand it all over to me. You're the reason they stopped giving me anything, and now you're going to get me money."
"Daddy, I don't -," Sebastian hates it, hates calling him daddylike a little child, but in situations like this he has to. The younger he comes across, the less likely it is for his father to actually hurt him.
"You're a whore, Sebastian, and now I'm your pimp."
That moment, it was worse than any name his father had ever called him, any shove up against the door or any punch in the ribs he had ever received. Hearing his father's approvalof something like that, it's insane. His own father wants him to sellhimself.
"That's not what I do," Sebastian doesn't know what his father would do if he found out the truth about the credit card he holds, but to make his father think he is a prostitute is not what he wants. He'll tell his father he can get him anything with the credit card, anything. Maybe he would calm down in a few days and accept it. An addict has got to feed his needs, after all.
His dad was facing away from him now, breathing hard and heavy, one hand scratching his chin as if he was thinking.
"I have a credit card from mom, that's how I get the money."
"Don't fucking lie to me."
He never saw it coming, the hand that was previously scratching his chin. He didn't see it clench into a fist and only as it collided with his eye he realized his dad had hit him. Hard.
Sebastian fell to the bed, hands clutching at his eye and immediately regretting the sound he made when his dad fist collided with his cheekbone. The neighbors all around must have heard.
Then again, the noise of utter pain is a noise than often goes around in their building, coming from various apartments. To the neighbors this was nothing new.
But it was to them.
His dad started pacing again, saying 'oh god, oh god, oh god' over and over again, and Sebastian lay on the bed for 238 ticks of the clock, before he decided to leave.
At tick number 300 he actually got up and walked to the door, reached out to turn the doorknob.
That's when his dad had yelled out his full name.
"Sebastian Benjamin Smythe, if you walk out that door right now it's over."
.
"Jesus fucking Christ Sebastian, keep your eyes on the road!"
Sebastian is still not sure what it was exactly that made his father punch him, but he knows it has something to do with the they he kept talking about.
He focuses his eyes back on the road, follows the car he almost ran into seconds ago and tries to take in his surroundings, tries to figure out how far along they are.
Turns out, they are almost at Dalton. Sebastian sighs, thinks how lucky they are to get to school in one piece, considering he hasn't even really been paying attention since they drove out of Lima. He thinks they should be lucky it's just one straight road or he'd have missed a turn or exist somewhere.
As he does take the exit to Westerville, Dave speaks up again.
"I can help you with that."
Sebastian doesn't take his eyes off the road to give him a look, not when Dave just told him to keep his eyes on it.
"With what?"
"That black eye. I know you don't want questions, you're trying to cover it up. I can help you."
Sebastian huffs out something between a snort and sincere laugh, looks Dave up and down from the corner of his eye and wonders how serious he is.
"You? The manliest man I've ever met, you know about make up?"
Dave shrugs.
"You never saw the bruises on my neck, did you?"
"Why would you ha..- oh. Right. You covered those up?"
"Kurt helped me."
He looks almost proud as he says it and Sebastian's well protected heart makes a crazy flip inside his chest, before he starts feeling sorry for Dave. So in love with Kurt, never able to get the guy.
Kurt, a whole other story. Sebastian is still not sure what exactly Kurt knows or suspects and he is not comfortable with it.
He knows what Kurt was hinting to, hinting that the shelter would be an option for Sebastian, but he doesn't know why Kurt would do that. It's not like Kurt even cares about him in the first place. Kurt's only in this friendship for Dave and Blaine, Sebastian knows that much.
Not that he's been helping it, teasing and insulting Kurt remains funny, mainly because Kurt isn't one to step down from a challenge. He likes this little thing they have going on, this thing that is theirs, just like he has the car rides with Dave and the texting with Blaine. Still, he's pretty sure Kurt doesn't feel the same way.
He can't, if Sebastian was Kurt he wouldn't. No one in their right mind would trust or like Sebastian after everything he did to them. There you have it again. Them. He did it to both of them, as a couple. He tried to break them up and then injured them.
"I only injured Blaine, I didn't injure both of you."
"But you meant to injure Kurt."
"I said I was sorry, didn't I?"
"You don't get it, whenever you hurt one of us, you hurt both of us."
Sebastian doesn't get that, he doesn't understand how you can be so fully attached to someone, if attached is even the right word to use. He worships it, worships them. He's jealous of how they do it. Jealous that they can.
Sebastian can't, he's tried, he's been on dates, but he can't let anybody in. He doesn't trust people, not when it comes to his heart. Not when it comes to opening himself up. Lying is his thing now, and letting someone in isn't part of that. Not in the romance way, only in the friend way, in a way where it is still okay to live with a series of white lies between the two.
And he and Kurt aren't even that close to consider him a friend, he's more like a friend of a friend. A friend between a group. So why Kurt would be the first one to figure this out, he doesn't know.
Maybe it's nothing, it's probably nothing. He's probably obligated to tell anyone with a bruise about the shelter.
Yes, that's it.
"Sebastian?"
He's been silent again, Dave must start to notice he's really absent by now.
"If your eye is really bugging you that much you should've let me drive," Dave offers, "I wouldn't mind."
"Of course you wouldn't," Sebastian laughs as he turns into the Dalton parking lot, "you've been trying to get me to let you drive since I first picked you up. I told you it's only insured when I drive it."
Dave shrugs.
"Yeah well, if you keep driving like this you better be glad you are insured. You're all distant, you're going to wreck it one of these days."
Sebastian shrugs and turns into an empty parking space close to the entrance.
"So you have that stuff with you?" Dave nods to his black eye, "I'll cover it up for you."
.
"As you all know, we are gathered here this very last day to allow my dear friend David Karofsky to audition for the Warblers, before he will have to compete with freshmen next year."
Sebastian stands before the group as captain, council gone and most of them nod in agreement, as if this really is an honest way to get in. If there was a council he'd have never got them to agree to let Dave audition midyear, let alone at the end and right before official auditions began. He still wonders how Blaine got Kurt in midyear.
"I'm not comfortable with this," Trent pipes up, the only one who really stands up to Sebastian anymore, "he's the one who sent Kurt here last year, I know what he's done."
Sebastian raises an eyebrow. Another person with a crush on Kurt, what do these people even see in Kurt? Sebastian is also quite sure Trent knows about Dave's crush on Kurt and somehow wants to keep his enemies away. Even if Trent is smart enough to know Blaine will never leave Kurt, somehow he'd still be able to fight with Dave over him.
"I think that isn't any of your concern. What happened between Kurt and Dave is solely their business," Sebastian replies. He just really, really wants Dave to audition and he also really wants Dave in the Warblers. These guys are nice, sure, but they aren't his friends. He could use a friend. They haven't been his friend since the slushy incident, and somehow they are harder to gain forgiveness from than the person who he injured in the first place.
Still, he has things on them and he knows how to work them. They might not be his friends, and maybe that's because he does play them like this, but they are okay enough people to be around and as long as they see him as someone superior, a leader instead of a friend, he is safe. As long as they think of him as a threatening thing not to mess with, they won't see his weak side.
"He made Kurt fear for his life, and now he's here? I don't think I want him in this room."
"We are a zero tolerance bullying school, if you don't want him in here he could turn you in to the school board for excluding."
Sebastian's not proud of the way he is trying to give his friend an in, but he knows how much Dave wants to be in the Warblers and he knows how much he wants Dave in here.
"Besides," Sebastian adds, "how would you justify, to said school board, refusing the person we dedicated our Regionals performance to?"
"Why does he have to audition now, why does he need to dodge the freshmen, is he bad? Because if he is, we won't let him in, Smythe."
"Jesus Christ, Trent, stop the drama. We are letting him audition now because, as I told you, he has had a rough year ad he could use some support and friends right now."
"We never let anyone audition midyear. It's auditions at the start of the year or not at all."
"Yeah, I heard Kurt auditioned when he didn't even attend Dalton last year, just in case he would transfer midyear."
"I'll never be Dave's friend, not after what he did to Kurt."
Sebastian raises the eyebrow again, he knows he look cocky and amused. He knows he looks like a spoilt brat who's getting exactly what he wants and maybe this time it he is.
"Did you know he and Kurt are quite close friends now?"
Trent's eyes grow wide.
"Yeah, they are great friends and I don't think Kurt would like it if he heard his friend was being discriminated against on his behalf."
Trent opens his mouth, looks like he's going to make a comeback but he doesn't. Instead he stares from Sebastian to the door behind which Dave is waiting and back to Sebastian.
"So, unless you want Kurt to find out you're excluding his friend, who's hit rock bottom mere weeks ago, I suggest you open that door and welcome Dave as if you've already given up your own spot in the Warblers for his talent."
Trent looks at Sebastian for a few more tense seconds, twelve ticks of Sebastian's watch to be precise, and then gets up to open the door.
Sebastian feels accomplished. He knew he'd get some trouble from Trent, but to know he still has them all wrapped around his finger gives him chills. This is the one place where he's in control. Where he will remain in control always.
Dave walks in unsure, nods to Sebastian who takes his place at the baby grand in the corner.
"Hello, my name is David Karofsky and I want to thank you all for this opportunity. I will be singing My Way by Frank Sinatra.
Sebastian starts playing and Dave's voice fills the room, it's a low and unsure sound, but it sounds like pure talent and ability. Only two lines into the song Sebastian knows they will not refuse Dave, not even if Sebastian loosens the leash he's got them on. They will want Dave in, even if it means giving Sebastian exactly what he wants.
Ten minutes later Sebastian isn't disappointed, all but Trent and Nick's hands rise up into the air when they vote. Dave is welcomed into the final Warbler rehearsal of the year. It's a bit hesitant, but he's in and Sebastian has a friend around.
He feels good.
.
His good mood lasts all Monday, he hardly even watches the clocks. All he does is count the ticks of the grandfather clock in the corner of his dorm, right as he falls asleep.
When he wakes up on Tuesday morning he can't remember how far he'd gotten and immediately feels that the good mood from Monday is gone.
He showers and right before breakfast Dave comes along, tells him once more how to cover up the bruise as he gently applies the concealer.
Sebastian mutters a thank you, but he hardly means it and they walk to breakfast together in silence. Maybe this is what makes their friendship work. Neither of them are talkers, neither of them are here because they want to be. They're here because they have nowhere else to go, nowhere else to belong.
Dave doesn't know this about Sebastian, but Sebastian knows it about Dave and that's why he likes he respects the way Dave so graciously walks these halls, even if everyone talks about him and Kurt behind his back.
Kurt was loved at Dalton, and if you are loved at Dalton you'll remain loved even after you leave. And even if it's an all-boys school, rumor and gossip still spreads around like wild fire. Everyone here knows Dave has had some sort of problem with Kurt. Most of them don't even know exactly what kind of problem, or the nature their relationship is right now. All they know is they are against Dave. They can't do anything to hurt him, can't say anything to him because they will be expelled faster than they can say they're sorry, but they sure as hell can refuse to befriend him.
Sebastian doesn't like it, doesn't like that Dave is alone at this school, alone with him. How they are both alone at this school. It's his fault Dave is here in the first place, it's his fault Dave can't remain at his old school, his fault Dave knows how to cover up bruises.
So the least he can do is be his friend and respect him.
Because it is his fault, no matter what Kurt and Blaine tell him. He's the one who rejected Dave so harshly, when he didn't even mean to. If only Dave knew why he did it in the first place. Why he never lets anyone in, even if everyone seems to think he lets people in daily.
He wishes he could tell Dave, but he can't so he won't. That particular secret is safe with him and him alone, the one thing he doesn't blame himself for.
They eat breakfast in silence and walk to the east wing of the school in silence. They part for different classes and today Sebastian doesn't pay attention to what the teacher says at all, he doesn't take notes and stares at the clock on the wall over the blackboard.
Tick, tock.. Tick, tock.. Tick, tock..
He thinks he's in history, but he isn't sure. All he knows is that it is 18.000 ticks away before he can leave home to go check on his father.
Five hours, 18.000 seconds.
600.. 601.. 602.. 603..
It's going to be a long morning. It is a long morning, but somehow Sebastian is able to avoid talking to anyone. In class he sits with his head in his hand, making it seem like he's having a headache, but really he's just listening to the ticks of the second hand on his watch.
6769.. 6770.. 6771.. 6772
In between classes he holds his neck with his hands, he pretends his neck is sore, as if he's trying to give himself a neck rub. In reality, he is still counting the ticks on his watch. He dodges Dave when he sees him, doesn't even trust his own voice to say hello today. All that's on his mind is the ticking of the clock and the state his father must currently be in.
10,898.. 10,899.. 10,900.. 10.901…
He spends the ten minute break after third period hiding in a bathroom stall, eating a granola bar and keeping an eye on his watch as it ticks away the final seconds before he can get to his car and drive back to Lima.
He sort of feels sorry for the teacher when he enters French class. He likes French and he's almost always participating quite well in this class. He knows the teacher likes him, because he speaks French fluently, he doesn't want to lie to the her.
Still, he walks up to her and says apologies in advance for his absent mindedness. He tells her he has a headache that will surely pass and takes his seat, eyes on the clock and left hand tangling in his hair, wrist to his ear.
17,997.. 17,998.. 17,999.. 18.000
The bell doesn't ring.
It's supposed to ring.
18,001.. 18,002.. 18,003.. 18,004
Eventually it does ring, 45 seconds later than it should. Sebastian feels even more off than he did all day.
He walks to his car, gets behind the wheel and drives to Lima thoughtless and feeling empty.
When he walks in with twenty four new cans of beer, a bottle of jack and some frozen pizzas, the room is completely empty. Only a great pool of sick on the floor indicates his dad has recently been home.
As Sebastian gags from the smell of vomit, he hates himself for stacking up on alcohol. He hates keeping his addicted father provided like this, he hates that he takes part in it.
But it's the only way to keep his father happy, and off his case, and out of trouble. If anything he wants to keep his father out of trouble. Maybe it's selfish, he's doing it for himself mostly, but his father in jail or rehabilitation would only mean he couldn't stay here anymore.
And if his mom gets wind of it he'll sure be on the first flight back to Paris. He can't be, he doesn't want to be. He needs to be here.
When he checks the bathroom he finds another pool of sick, but no sign of his father. So while he waits for his father to return, or maybe prays for his father not to return before he's gone, he cleans up both pools of sick, like it's ordinary daily business.
As if he has done this every day since he was able to walk, he cleans up his father's mess and decides to mob the floor right away too, as that's the only thing he didn't get to during his cleaning spree on Saturday night.
As he looks around the room he notices there isn't really any new mess, apart from empty bottles throughout the room. No clothes, no rotten fruit and no half eaten delivery pizzas across the floor. He checks the fridge and finds none of the things he bought on Saturday night are even touched at all (apart from whatever contained alcohol). It irks him in the wrong way.
Why is his father not home? Why is the food uneaten, and are there no pizza boxes? Has his father not eaten at all? Where is he, and wherever he is, is he okay?
When he is finished with cleaning up, Sebastian is not quite sure what to do with himself. It's well past lunch time, just a tad too late to make it back to Dalton in time for dinner. So instead, he plants himself on the bed with the book he is supposed to read for French class, waiting for his dad to be back. He hopes his dad will be back in time for dinner, so he can force his father to eat something. He knows his father is still trying to mask his alcoholism, still thinks Sebastian doesn't know about it (yet he pretty much forced Sebastian to provide the alcohol last Saturday). So Sebastian knows that his father will eat something when he's around, if only to keep up pretense.
For a while he loses himself in his book, letting the stress of a difficult day disappear into another world, a world where he doesn't have to count ticks of the clock and where he doesn't have an alcoholic father. A world where his eye isn't still painful and black.
It's a nice world, where all that matters is love and the feeling of new. Sebastian in the real world doesn't like that feeling anymore, he doesn't like anything new at all. He's afraid of new, because look where new got him. He thought new would be good when he left Paris, nothing about this new is good. He knows that, he is aware his life isn't in any way good or even acceptable, still there is no way out.
A lot of the times he tries to correct the wrongs his father has done, in his head he makes up excuses.
It was a friendly punch that was a bit too hard. He just lost his job, he'll get back on track when he finds a new one. He has an off day, it'll be better tomorrow.
Sebastian isn't stupid, actually he is quite smart. His father is an abusive alcoholic and there is no way around any of it. Still, this is the only place he can be right now, the only place he wants to be.
He thinks.
That is not on his mind now, though, now he reads about a young girl in Paris, a girl looking for a future and finding love in a man much older than her. He loses himself in the Paris of it all, the French of it all. Sebastian doesn't really know how his mind works in this way, but somehow when he's in 'French mode', he doesn't feel so trapped inside a cage. He doesn't feel particularly lost without a cause.
It's funny, since France is exactly what he escaped when he decided to come and live with his father. Sebastian grew up with both his parents until the age of five, his mum being a wealthy Parisian and his father being an Ohio-based state's attorney. His mom came from old money, had always known money, where his father earned all if it on his own, his father was a wealthy man of new money.
They raised Sebastian bilingual, his mother only ever speaking French to him and his father always speaking English. When he was five, Sebastian doesn't really remember the reason, his mom packed their suitcases and took Sebastian to live in Paris. 'Old money and new money don't go together', she always told Sebastian. He never quite knew until he saw it with his own eyes. He knows now what she meant, and he knows now she was right to leave.
He can't, though, he can't leave his father now and his mother understands. Maybe not to the extent where she knows about the alcohol problems, but it took her 8 years and a child to leave this man, it will take Sebastian something more than this as well.
Sebastian admires his mother and whenever he's in 'French mode' (thinking, speaking and/or reading in French), he is reminded of her. He feels warmth and love when the language floods through his mind. French and English are both so natural for him, whenever he sees a French word somewhere his mind clicks into French mode automatically. Most of the times he doesn't even notice whether he's thinking in French or English, only when he consciously pays attention.
Still, the feeling he has when he's in French mode rather than English mode is great. The feeling of warmth, love and safety. He gave that up for what English mode now represents and unfortunately, will keep representing for as long as he doesn't escape this life he's in right now.
He's not planning to escape it, not anytime soon because as much as French mode calls love, warmth and safety to mind, Paris doesn't. Not anymore.
So instead of fleeing, he buries himself in a French book, in French mode where he doesn't have to count the ticks of the clock to feel safe, where no ultimatums are set and where love and romance are the most important thing in the world. Because just like warmth and safety, love and romance only have a place in French mode.
English mode shuts everyone out.
Unfortunately, French mode doesn't just make Sebastian feel safe and warm, it also makes him unaware of his surroundings. So when his father stumbles through the door, he glances at his watch to see it is already well past midnight. He didn't even notice he was hungry until now.
He got lost in his book, in another world. A world where his father wouldn't stumble in the door drunk with a dark haired woman in his tail.
The woman's arms are wound tight around his father's waist, her pitch black hair is tied back, tight and with a scrunchy, it sits on top of her head. Her eyebrows are obviously penciled on and her whole face is covered in a glittery, glowing type of foundation. Even if Sebastian only learned how to apply make-up hours ago, he knows this is not what his old money, Parisian mother would approve of.
His father is playing with the woman's fingers that are interwoven just above his belt. Sebastian can hear him giggling as he is still stumbling towards the bed (and Sebastian,) never looking up from the fingers he is playing with.
"Uhh- Gerald?"
His father whispers a yes as he turns around inside the woman's arms, he throws his arms around her and starts kissing up and down her neck.
"There's a kid on your bed," she says.
"fuck – fucking.. – hate, - fuck this," his father frees himself from the woman's arms and turns around to face Sebastian.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" he asks, almost calmly but Sebastian knows that venomous tone better than maybe anything in the world. It's only a matter of time before his father either gets violent or locks himself up in the bathroom.
1… 2… 3.. 4…
The woman is still awkwardly standing in the door opening, as if she's not quite sure who Sebastian is and why he's here.
"I just came home because I thought it would be nice," Sebastian offers and it doesn't go over well. He sees the shift in his father's face, where he goes from annoyed disbelief to utter anger.
He turns around, somehow keeps calm and addressed the woman.
"Angela, I would like you to meet my son Sebastian."
"A son? You never told me you had a son."
She rushes past his father and extents a hand for Sebastian to shake. She wobbles a bit on the high heels and finally gives Sebastian a weak hand as she introduces herself as Angela.
She leans forward and his nose is almost buried in her cleavage as she pinches his cheeks as if he is a toddler visiting his most awful aunt.
"Aren't you a cutie pie, just like your dad," she half screams and the smell of alcohol reeks almost as strong as it usually does from his father's mouth.
After she's done fussing over Sebastian's hair and pinching his cheeks, she kicks off her shoes and sets herself next to Sebastian on the bed.
"So you come her often?" she asks.
"I live here," Sebastian replies.
"Gerald never told me he had a son."
"So you said," Sebastian replies and he doesn't know why he's hurt by this, he really doesn't. It's not like he expected his father to have a girlfriend, let alone have her know about him. After all, he didn't know about her until a minute ago either.
89.. 90.. 91.. 92
Sebastian does not feel comfortable at all with this situation and it isn't very long until he is proven right to be.
"Fuck," his dad curses from where he is still standing, "you weren't supposed to be here. You aren't supposed to be here during the week."
Sebastian makes to stand up, but his dad pushes him back on the bed.
"No, no, you wanted to surprise me. I'm not going to ruin your surprise."
For people who have no idea who his father is, or for people who still see him as the ever rich state's attorney he once was, it would seem nice. His father not wanting to screw up his surprise. His dad making time for him.
But Sebastian hears the undertone and by the way the woman tenses up next to him, he thinks Angela is very familiar with the undertone as well.
"Angela, if you leave me and my son alone, he was surprising me."
"I'm sure I can stay," she says with her voice as tense as Sebastian has been feeling since they first stumbled in, "I'd love to get to know your son."
"Another time, maybe," his father answers without taking his eyes off Sebastian.
"No, I'm staying," Angela insists and gets up in front of his father.
"Angela," he warns but she stays firmly put so he grabs her arm and drags her to the door.
"I told you to go," he says, "fucking listen to me already."
All the while they are fighting, Sebastian focuses on the ticks of the great grandfather clock.
234.. 345.. 346.. 237..
As he drags her to the door she remains protesting, saying things like 'he's just a child' and 'please let me stay' but his father doesn't give in to her. Mumbling 'fucking bitch', he slams the door in her face, hard.
When he turns around all the calm demeanor and disguise are gone. His father face is pure rage and maybe even scarier than the way his face had looked last Saturday.
Still, when he talks he's calm. He sounds calm, yet his hands are clutched at his side and his right foot is tapping on the floor impatiently.
"Now tell me why you're really here," he orders Sebastian.
"I was out of school early, thought you would like some company," Sebastian says again, quietly as though merely the volume of his voice would upset his father.
"Right, you just drive two fucking hours to see me. Come up with something better, fucking slut."
"Dad."
Sebastian practically begs, but his father doesn't seem to notice and maybe it is a good thing, too, because Sebastian has no idea what he actually is begging for. For it to stop, for it to end. For Saturday back so he could've actually walked out that door. For it to have been over then. He regrets driving over to Lima, he regrets not getting back to Dalton after dinner time.
"What, you had a trick, made some money and decided to start taking care of me?" his father hisses as he looks around. "When I told you to fucking take care of the money I didn't mean drop by during the fucking week."
Sebastian wishes his father stopped cursing. Out of all the things he could think of in this terrifying moment, that is the only thing that comes to mind.
"Please stop cursing."
"Stop cursing?" his father laughs, "are you a teenager or what? I thought cursing was cool in high school?"
"Please."
That's when he receives the first slap in his face. It's a slap with flat hand against his cheek, it stings and his already black eye immediately starts to pound with pain.
Sebastian doesn't say anything, doesn't do anything but sit on the bed and facing the floor.
"Give me the fucking money," his father says and when Sebastian doesn't move his father slaps him again, harder, before grabbing his chin forcefully and makes him look into his eyes.
"You give me the fucking money right now or you're never allowed inside this place ever again."
That's it, his out. Sebastian can walk out right now without giving his father anything, without owing him anything, and he's gone.
Except that won't be true. If he walks out right now he'll worry about his father, he will want to know whether or not he is still alive. He will be back tomorrow or the day after that and even if his father is angry, when he runs out of alcohol Sebastian will always be welcomed back in. Maybe not warmly, but he will be welcome.
So instead he grabs his wallet and gives his father whatever cash he's got in there. It's not much, as he never wants his father to be suspicious and always pays by card.
Still, his father lets go of his chin to take the money and he counts it about five times before he seems absolutely sure he's got it right.
"This is it?" he asks, "this is what you let those perverts fuck you for?"
Sebastian isn't sure how much money it was he had in his wallet, but he is absolutely sure he would never let anyone fuck him for that little amount. Hell, he would never let anyone fuck him for whatever amount. He'd never fuck for money.
But to his father, he does, so he shrugs and doesn't say anything. It receives him another slap right in the face and this time it's so unexpected he yells out in pain as he falls sideways to the bed.
"You're not just a filthy slut," his dad yells, "you're a cheap one at that."
"Sorry," Sebastian whines as he clutches the painful cheek with his hand. There's no hiding it now, no acting as though it doesn't affect him. The pain is almost unbearable and his black eye is starting to swell, another slap and it'll sure swell shut.
"I raised you better than this," his father said as he waves with the few bills in his hands, "I can't buy anything with this."
"The fridge," Sebastian cries, "check the fridge."
"Don't tell me what to fucking do," his father says and punches him in the stomach as if it's daily business. "I fucking let her go for you, you sick little bastard."
Somehow the insults hurt even more than the slaps and punches.
"She was going to suck my fucking cock and then you have to go and ruin it."
"I.. it's..", but Sebastian has lost the ability to form full or coherent thoughts, let alone sentences.
He tries to focus on anything other than what his father is saying and for a while it works.
He has to start all over again though, he lost count after the first slap.
1.. 2.. 3.. 4..
"I've been keeping you a secret for ages. I knew she'd get like this. Fucking cunt knows you for two seconds and immediately starts protecting you."
5.. 6.. 7.. 8..
"Wanting to take your fucking punches for you. Well fuck her. And fuck you."
9.. 10.. 11.. 12..
Sebastian sees the fist coming, but he wasn't expecting the force that would come with it. He yells out and clutches his stomach right where his father hit him. As he is squirming around in pain he falls from the bed, landing painfully on his right arm.
He screams out again and a foot kicks his stomach.
"Shut your mouth, fucking filth, the neighbors will hear you."
As if they'd care.
Sebastian is in so much pain, he's not sure whether he is in pain at all. He wants to clutch every painful place in his body but there are too many, yet he wants to just lay where he is laying and fall asleep.
His father doesn't say anything for a while, just walks around and grabs the bottle of jack from the counter to take a few large gulps. With the bottle clutched tightly in his hand, he keeps pacing the room.
2754.. 2755.. 2756.. 2757..
Sebastian is almost lulled into unconsciousness, most definitely unconsciously counting the ticks, as his father speaks up again.
"Nine fucking months she doesn't know I have a child. Nine fucking months she is okay with everything and the second she sees you she goes all in mother mode."
He takes another gulp from the bottle.
"You have to screw everything up, don't you?"
Another gulp.
"First, you show up and want to live with me," gulp, "next you become a fucking whore," gulp, "they find out you're here and cut my finances," a very large gulp, "and then she has to find out I have a son and I bet I get the guilt trip about her terminated pregnancy next time I see her."
Things should sort of click in Sebastian's mind. Who this woman is, maybe who they are, and why this woman came to his defense as if she were his mother. However, nothing does click. All he sees is the now empty bottle in his father's hands. He sees it seconds before his father does.
When his father finally does see it he growls, a low, hard grumble that emerges from deep within his chest and throws a sound of frustration and agony through the room. He smashes the bottle to the ground and it splinters into a million pieces throughout the space.
Sebastian immediately moves to get up, but as he does he leans his upper right arm on a sharp piece of glass and it pierces deep through his skin. It doesn't even hurt anymore, not as much as he'd expect it to anyway.
"Stay where you fucking are," he dad grunts and walks right through the glass to shove him back, his head hitting the sharp corner of the bedside table.
Before everything goes black, Sebastian feels a firing pain shoot through his head.
.
When Sebastian regains his consciousness hours later, his dad is absolutely, and luckily, passed out on the bed. Careful not to cut himself on more glass, Sebastian crawls up.
Everything from head till toe hurts. His whole body feels stiff from lying in the same position on the floor for so long, his stomach hurts from the punches and kicks. His arm hurts from the fall and glass that cut it, and he head hurts from where it banged against the bedside table.
He examines himself. His arm seems to still be bleeding, on his head there is a massive painful bump but no blood on his fingers as he feels it, so that indicates it isn't cut. The arm that he fell on is completely bruised and he can't move his fingers so he fears the worst and thinks it's broken.
His eye is throbbing painfully and he can't open it quite good. His cheek is still hurting and as softly runs a finger against it he feels dried up blood under his fingertip.
Softly, as to not wake his father, he finally cries. The tears streaming from his eye only make it hurt even more and as he tries to hold in the sound of sobs his chest starts to ache as well.
For 73 ticks of the clock he watches has father while he cries. But this man is not his father.
This is not the man he sees in pictures in his photo album, the one he left in Paris. This is not the man who threw him high up in the air only to catch him again, this is not the man in that video.
He may not remember his father and how he was with Sebastian, maybe he was always a bit off, but this man is not the man Sebastian always envisioned his father to be.
The man he thought his father would be would never, ever, knock him unconscious.
So Sebastian makes a decision, right then and there, that that is where he draws the line.
His father can call him a slut, punch him in the stomach and even give him black eyes. His father can drink as much as he likes but he cannot knock him so hard he's unconscious for several hours.
Quietly Sebastian gets to his feet, grateful that he never took off his shoes he steps through the glass and retrieves his book from the end of the bed. He gets his bag from next to the door and leaves his house keys on the little table next to it. If he leaves his keys, he'll never be able to get into here anymore.
He walks down the stairs towards the entrance of the building in pain, clutches the bar of the stairs tightly with his good arm. He feels the blood still streaming from the arm that is most likely broken, and he thanks a God he doesn't believe him that his legs are okay.
He is sore all over when he gets downstairs and starts to walk the two blocks away to where his car is.
When he gets there, he takes his phone out of his bag and dials the only number he can think off.
"hmhhh what?" it sounds after a few minutes of trying.
"I need to talk to Kurt," Sebastian immediately says.
"wmmwhat? I'm Blaine."
"I know," Sebasiant says, "I don't have his number. Please let me talk to him."
"Who's that?" Sebastian hears Kurt's voice on the other and of the line and for some reason, his heart drops to his stomach and picks up pace at the same time.
"Please," Sebastian begs in a whisper.
"Sebastian," Blaine says, sounding more awake now Kurt is up, too, "says he wants to talk to you."
There is something rumbling and then Sebastian is talking to Kurt.
"What's going on?" Kurt asks and Sebastian honestly thinks he sounds concerned.
"You still work at that shelter?" Sebastian asks with an attempt of lightness in his voice.
"I started yesterday," Kurt says seriously, "yes I still work there."
"Is there place for one more teen?"
"Where are you?"
"Kurt…"
"Can you drive?"
"I don't think so."
"Where are you?"
Sebastian takes in his surroundings. He's not ready for Kurt to find out where he lived these past months. Not entirely. Not until he's patched up and strong enough to tell the story.
"Is it.. Do you know where Santana Lopez lives?"
"Yes."
"I'm close to her."
"I'm picking you up, wait in front of her house" Kurt says. "we're picking you up, Blaine can follow us in your car. You need your car."